He came in a surly way, and then stared at me.
“Want me to move the ladder? Why can’t yer move it yerself?” he grumbled.
“You know I’m not strong enough,” I said.
“Ho! that’s it, is it? I thought you were such a great big cock-a-hoop sort of a chap that you could do anything. Well, where’s it to be?”
“Round the other side, I think,” I said.
“No; this here’s best,” he cried, and whisking up the ladder I stood admiring his great brown arms and the play of the muscles as he carried the ladder as if it had been a straw, and planted it, after thrusting the intervening boughs aside with the top to get it against a stout limb.
“There you are, my lad,” he said. “Now, are you satisfied?”
“Yes; and thank you, Ike,” I said quickly. “And I’m very much obliged to you about wanting to take the blame upon yourself about the broken ladder and—”
“Here, I can’t stand listening to speeches with my plants a-shrivelling up in the sun. Call me if you wants me agen.”
He gave me a curious look and went away, leaving me with the impression that I had thoroughly offended him now, and that I was a most unlucky boy.